Mae Samuel Beckett yn dal i fod yn sownd yn nhy bychan perffaith Franz Kafka.
Mae Franz Kafka yn cysgu o dan lwyn unwaith eto. Druan arno fe.
Mae Daf y gath yn teimlo piti drosto fe, ond dim digon o biti i wneud rhywbeth.
Digwydd bod, mae’r hanner-siarc yn jyglo â phedair basged fach. Mae’r hanner-siarc yn oedi, a meddwl am eiliad.
– Hoffet ti un o’r rhain? gofynna’r hanner-siarc i Franz Kafka.
– Diolch yn fawr, meddai Franz Kafka. – Fy nghartref fy hunan, o’r diwedd.
Saesneg / English
Franz Kafka’s basket
Samuel Beckett is still stuck in Franz Kafka’s perfect little house.
Franz Kafka is sleeping under a bush once more. Poor him.
Dave the cat feels pity for him, but not enough pity to do anything.
It so happens that the half-shark is juggling with four small baskets. The half-shark pauses, and thinks for a moment.
– Would you like one of these? the half-shark asks Franz Kafka.
– Thank you very much, said Franz Kafka. – My own home, finally.
